


Indulgence

by sailaway



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, fandom so new the ship tags don't even exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21553720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailaway/pseuds/sailaway
Summary: The aloof Mandalorian was clearly a professional, more concerned with delivering bodies for payment than enjoying a willing one for pleasure. All the more thrilling, then, that it was with you he'd relented to indulge himself.
Relationships: Mandalorian/OC, Mandalorian/Reader, Reader/Mandalorian, Reader/The Mandalorian, The Mandalorian/OC, The Mandalorian/Reader
Comments: 33
Kudos: 715





	Indulgence

**Author's Note:**

> Back on my Star Wars bullshit! Well, not fully – Rise of Skywalker is probably going to suck ass, to my great despair. But now I live only for this hunk of a bounty hunter and his precious gremlin baby. I should clarify here that from what we've seen so far, I doubt he'd engage in casual sex, but this had to be written. For... reasons.
> 
> FYI, though this isn't going to be a traditional multichapter "story," I will likely write additional separate Mando/Reader one-shots, so feel free to subscribe to me if you're interested. Also, I'm @kehrite on tumblr, always down for a chat.

* * *

The Mandalorian sat on the edge of your bed – still armored, covered head to toe, from the gleaming silver helmet down to the dusty, rugged boots. His knees were slightly apart, hands resting on his thighs, posture so calm and correct he might as well have been in a pilot's seat looking at the dull void of space rather than a woman undressing before him.

He'd wanted to watch.

You gathered the hem of your blouse – more slowly than was necessary, making it last – and tugged it over your head, hair falling back untidily around your face. The evening sun glowed through the slatted wood blinds, painting you in golden stripes as you flicked open the button that fastened your bra. For obvious reasons you couldn't gauge his reaction. His helmeted head remained still but you imagined his eyes roving over you. Were they dark in hue? Light? Mandalorians were mostly human, so likely some shade you were familiar with. Were they appreciative, focused, hot with lust? Did he feel the same simmering anticipation you did?

You untied your wrap skirt and let the flimsy homespun fall around your ankles, followed promptly by your underwear, the bangles around your wrist tinkling as you kicked away the puddled fabric. The movement of his gloved hand was imperceptible but you thought it shifted closer to his groin. A spark of heat ignited in your core.

You stepped closer, into the V of his thighs. He just sat for a moment, head drifting a tick to one side. In an easy and unhurried motion he passed a palm over your belly; his gloves were practical, not luxury leather but worn soft from heavy use. Through them his touch was direct, straightforward, neither rough nor hesitant. Both hands rose now, sliding up the curve of your waist and down again over your hips. Up once more; one hand gliding across your ribs, the other cupping your breast. You'd expected him to at least bare his hands. But it was unexpectedly erotic: the smooth yellow-brown leather, the seams running down his fingers, the creases in his palm –

He pulled you down into his lap. A blurted "oh" of surprise escaped you as your knees parted on either side of his hips, the hard surface of his armored thighs pressing into the underside of your own. His trousers were some kind of tough canvas, concealing the feel of his body as surely as his helmet masked his face. But regardless of intimidating appearance or fearsome reputation, he was still a man. Man in his height and breadth, in the timbre of his voice, the lines of his figure, his stride and bearing... man enough to tempt you though you had yet to see a single sliver of his skin.

“Aren't you going to... undress?” you prompted, with a lopsided grin and accompanying blush.

His assessment of your body didn't seem to slow. His hips shifted up. “No.”

“Alright, then.” You'd assumed that was merely rumor - one of many - about Mandalorians. Well, some cultures had a thing about that. You had hoped to see his features, explore what was surely a magnificent body... but you'd been attracted to him fully covered to begin with, so him maintaining his privacy was hardly a dealbreaker.

You adjusted to slot more neatly against him. Even this close his visor was inscrutable, offering no hint of the person beneath. His armored chest was an odd feeling on your breasts, but not unpleasant. Beneath the seam of his trousers was his jutting arousal and on instinct you canted your hips against it; he allowed this, hands spanning your waist as you rubbed shamelessly against his fly. The contrast between his warrior's layers and your soft nudity provoked your arousal further; you felt exposed, almost delicate. You liked it.

Then he pushed you aside into the bed, and the suddenness of it made you think he'd changed his mind about this whole encounter; but instead he positioned you on all fours, facing away from him. You shivered as he tugged your ass up. You chanced a peek back over your shoulder; his head was tilted, clearly observing your nakedness, and you shivered again in titillation as his thumbs met at the small of your back.

Then one hand descended, and if his glove felt exotic on your breast it was only heightened on your sex. Was he really going to...? One fingertip sought your clit, and at the foreign brush of leather you rewarded him with an unfeigned hitch in your breath. It took a few swipes of his finger to adjust to it on your most sensitive flesh but the strange became sensuous, the unusual stimulus exquisitely risqué. You could feel your own wetness on his glove as he palmed your sex, the heel of his hand pushing against your entrance. Your legs began to quiver but before you could buckle he slid an arm beneath your waist to keep you up.

“Don't let me go,” you gasped; you may not be able to touch him properly but you still wanted the contact, wasn't it was only natural to find pleasure in it, in the masculine structure of him covering you... he kept you upright, increasing the pace of his manipulations at your clear enjoyment. Though enjoyment was too tame a word. It had never been a challenge to get off but this was coming at you ungodly quick, roaring like an engine, you thought you might scream for the sheer _need need need_ of it.

“ _Kriff,_ ” you swore, “Yeah – ”

Just the tip of his gloved thumb slipped inside you and you came, contracting around the leather; eyes shut tight and vision fuzzing into hyperspace white-out as your elbows gave way, crying out into your bedding until the tremors subsided and he retrieved his supporting arm.

You heard a metallic click, a rustle of fabric – being unable to see him was both frustrating and tantalizing. As your senses returned you envisioned him discarding his belts and freeing his cock.

“In the interest of full disclosure,” he said, and behind the level practicality of his voice you detected a modest breathlessness, “I have the implant.”

As proof he reached for your hand, untangling it from the sheets and pressing it to the tiny subcutaneous contraceptive at his hip. At the unexpected contact with warm skin you sucked in a breath. He didn't stop your blind exploration – first tentative, then craven – of his taut abdomen with its crisp downward arrow of hair, a mere slice of flesh between waistband and shirt but overwhelming nonetheless. Then, your seeking hand at last found what was waiting: the hot, velvety shaft of his cock. You circled your fingers around it, your already heated inner walls clenching in anticipation. The faint crackle of static from his helmet must be his own reaction to your grasp.

He took your hips in both hands once more and you withdrew yours, bracing on the mattress as you pushed back against him, instinctive and primal. The plump head of his cock slipped over your folds for but a moment before he was pushing in.

“Gods, yes.” You groaned raggedly at each stretching inch filling you, your head bowing down onto the bed once more. As his pelvis connected with your ass, cock fully and firmly seated inside you, his grip on you tightened almost to pain. You could tell him to ease up – somehow, you trusted completely he would oblige – but your arousal at his rising intensity overrode the discomfort.

You squirmed on his cock, rolling your hips back, stimulated to the point that your brain was all but buzzing. He didn't move right away; because he was savoring it, or because he was simply enjoying your wantonness, you couldn't be sure. Vaguely you wondered how long it'd been since he'd indulged in this way. Despite the seedy nature of his trade, he didn't seem the type to have a girl in every port or to fritter credits on paid company. Even as you thought it, you chided yourself for spinning such idle conclusions. You barely knew him. But you'd always been rather talented at reading people.

It didn't matter. You wanted him for yourself; and in turn wanted him to lose himself in your all-too-willing body.

“Yes, _fuck_ me,” you hissed through gritted teeth as he proceeded to do just that. The pace he set was assertive rather than aggressive, each inward thrust jolting you forward. His breathing was audible now as it grew rougher, and you imagined yourself from his perspective: orgasm-flushed, mussed hair, the sinuous curve of your back as you met his rhythm, your body neatly framed by the helmet's narrow field of view.

Unexpectedly he stopped short, and with alarm you prayed he wasn't finished already; instead, to your surprise and without warning, he withdrew and rolled you over. Limply you fell back into the bed, staring heavy-lidded up at him. He was still covered but you realized when he'd undone his trousers he'd removed his cuirass and gauntlets as well. Everything else remained; perhaps he'd decided those clunkier pieces would hinder him. In the padded tunic his frame was all the more delineated, and though the sun had descended by now, leaving your room dim, you could see the shadow of his hard length emerging from his open fly. His armored silhouette and the faceless severity of his helmet made you feel small, vulnerable; but still wholly unafraid.

You moaned as he settled between your thighs, the delicious pressure of his weight causing a fresh surge of pleasure to uncurl deep in your belly. He braced on one forearm, hips flexing forward to sheathe himself in you again. You would've clutched his shoulders if it wasn't for the pauldrons so you opted instead for his waist, maintaining your assumption that he'd indicate if you touched him in a way he didn't approve of. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right...? Though that might be unwise approach to take with a notorious bounty hunter. You'd find out.

With no belts or bandolier to hinder your exploration you slid your hands over his chest, solid through the thick fabric, and further down. The taper of his waist was slight – he was sturdily built under there – and in a fit of passionate greed you writhed up, grinding your mound against him just so to stimulate your clit. You inhaled sharply, dizzied; he exhaled something that might have been a word. You weren't sure if it was Basic and just too faint to hear, or something in his own language, but the raw and unmistakable desire in his tone crossed any language barrier.

Your head lolled back into the bedding as he met your gyrations with his own inward press, the slick friction of his cock inside you spiraling you again into hazy pleasure. Though your brief acquaintance with him had shown his speech to be sparse and his body language even more so, there was nothing mechanical or perfunctory about him now. The roll of his hips was steady and swift, but he was not rushing; this was not a mindless errand for him, a quick slaking of base physical needs before returning to the demands of his work.

With your own peak reached you hooked one leg over his back, urging him to achieve his own. His pace ramped up, chest rising and falling, his faint panting a rasp through the vocal synthesizer of his helmet. The increased force would've pushed you up into the headboard had he not been holding you in place as he fucked into you, wringing a little gasp from you with each thrust.

“You... better... come in me, Mandalorian,” you groaned, white-hot pleasure rendering you filthy and lascivious.

He didn't respond, but when his gloved hand fisted in your hair, you knew he'd heard. As his hips stuttered forward he released a guttural sound, insanely erotic; he slammed in hard, his body tensing as his cock throbbed inside you. He'd turned his head to the side, presumably to avoid an awkward connection of his helmet with your face, but though there was no facial expression to see his physical climax was writ in every limb.

He remained braced on you for a moment or two, as his breathing returned to its normal silence. Despite the helmet's averted angle you had the uncanny sense he was looking at you from his peripheral vision. You kept the imagined eye contact. Eventually you let your own half-closed gaze drift over the metal curve, the dark swath of fabric around his neck, the dent on one pauldron and its battle-worn edges. His appearance was unostentatious, but spoke of competence and efficiency; his sexual skills, you concluded with a secret inner smile, were equally so.

You sighed when he withdrew, pushing up onto his knees and tucking himself back into his trousers. He looked for all the world as if he'd just come in off the street rather than having fucked you silly. Though, and maybe it was bias, you thought there was a new and subtle languor in his movements, an easier set of his shoulders.

“The 'fresher's through there,” you mumbled lazily, gesturing across the room to the beaded curtain in the narrow doorway.

When he inclined his head in acknowledgment, his attention seemed to linger longer than necessary.

He took his armor with him. You were too sated to be offended at his caution; this may be one of the busiest spaceports in the sector, but it was also the seamiest. The thieving and unscrupulous abounded. You'd probably do the same in his shoes. Or boots, as it were.

It was too early for real sleep, but the tingling glow of pleasure and your body's flushed warmth and the water running through the pipes to the 'fresher soothed you into a dreamy doze. You wouldn't have minded if he stayed a while, but no doubt he'd leave straight away after he washed up. That was alright. This was a popular stopping off point between two decent-sized systems; he might be back. And if not, that would be a shame... but at the very least, you could carry with you the private satisfaction of knowing you'd had a Mandalorian.

* * *


End file.
